The Higgledy-Piggledy Palace

When the prayers came to me, I wasn't fazed. I knew what had to be done. I watched as Sarah, rumored the most beautiful woman in the world, was whisked into the arms of the spiteful and cruel pharaoh. Abraham fumed silently under the ruse of her brother, wise enough to avoid confronting the king. I could see his thoughts, the deep regret of putting her in a box (a fairly stupid and misogynistic idea) and trying to get through customs with said case. No amount of money he offered could stop the security guards from opening the lid to see a stunning woman squinting back at them. "Courage, my beloved," he whispered as goodbye to his wife, "the good God will not forsake us." He indeed would not.

I followed Sarah and her capturer deep inside the palace, watching dreadfully as she tried to avoid his advances to no avail. "Come," he said, "be not foolish. I cannot be angry with a creature so fair as thou art. But it is not meet- nay, it is not wise- to utter threats to one who wears a crown." Sarah didn't reply- she suddenly noticed me, eyes locked onto mine, and I witnessed a calm wash over her. She realized her prayers had been answered, Abraham's prayers answered. She gave me the smallest of smiles, and I couldn't help but smile back. Day after day I was sent to protect these women from the disgusting predators seeking their bodies, and no amount of protest would ever stop those men. It was during these moments I functioned best, when the woman would see me and know that they were safe. Know that their worst nightmare would not come upon them.

Pharaoh took Sarah's silence as agreement and approached her. I smiled as I brought the club down on his head. The look of shock and confusion that dazed him for a few seconds, mixed with the gleeful satisfaction of Sarah, made the job worthwhile. Sometimes all it took was one hit to the head and they would back down, but the Pharaoh was stubborn. He recovered quickly and continued only to be stopped by my second blow- this time to his shoulder. He miraculously kept himself from crying out in pain, and an annoyance started to surge through my fingertips. Why wouldn't he just give up? Would I have to kill him? I wouldn't be too opposed, of course, but it would be quite the pain to clean up.

Pharaoh went to touch Sarah yet again, stopped short by the angry flash of her eyes along with her words: "if thou layest a finger on me, it will be at thy peril." I grinned in pride, watching this woman speak up for herself and take control as she should. Pharaoh, fed up and irate, raised his hand above her. This time I did not strike him- I gripped his arm in midair, happily watching him start to tremble in fear, paling. "Art thou a witch?" Such an insult was practically unheard of. Sarah gave me a look filled with rage. This was my favorite part. I swung the bat upon his head and shoulders repeatedly like a piñata, joyfully rooting for the 'candy' to spill out. I finished upon his scream of "thy pardon, thy pardon, I crave," and stared down at his writhing and bruised body. I deemed Sarah as fine, but I was not yet done with this monster.

As the Pharaoh winced into his bed, I waved my finger and tilted it upwards, chuckling at his body sprawling onto the floor, him pained by the unexpected pressure to his wounds. The palace was spacious, so he went from one room to another, trying to lie down on any beds or couches he could find- and yet, like with his repeated disregard for Sarah's consent, I kept pushing him to the ground. He screeched for his slaves to lie down, ripping his hair out in madness upon their ability to stay on the furniture. He tried to lie with a slave, but while she was unaffected I lifted him up, propped him standing on his head, spun him until he was dizzy enough to throw up, and pushed him to the floor with a crash.

He consulted physicians, magicians, anyone- none of them could provide a remedy. I just stood behind him, invisible, gloating to myself. He spent the entire night going between rooms and corridors, extracting full belly laughs from me as I made every corner bump into him and the stairs disobey his steps. For good measure, I gave him a bit of leprosy knowing full well medicine was yet to be developed and he would soon be crippled, then dead. Desperate to live long enough he went to Abraham and Sarah, reunited tearfully, and begged for restoration. I was a bit peeved when Abraham obliged, though admired his kindness and made a note of it. He looked to me with unsaid words and I nodded solemnly. As Abraham turned back to the despicable Pharaoh, he spoke his final words. ""Sarah is not my sister, but my wife. I give

thee this warning. Should thy descendants at any time seek to persecute our descendants, then will our God, He, the One God of the universe, surely punish the king with plague again." And, of course, he was right.

Many years later, I remembered his promise whilst turning the Nile River to blood. I recalled the terror in Sarah's eyes as frogs, gnats, and flies upon the kingdom of the new Pharaoh. I saw yet again his conceit and stubbornness in the face of my diseases, boils, hail, locusts, constant darkness, and- the straw that broke his back, the one I feel most regret from- the murder of all firstborns with the exception of the Jews. Abraham, Sarah, and the old Pharaoh were long gone, but their tragedy lived still in me. I was still quite wary of Abraham despite his courage, as any man with three wives who puts one inside a literal box should be punished at least a small amount. Unfortunately, the time was too far passed.

I knew these stories would be spoken through each generation, pondering who the spirit was that did so many horrible yet justified things. I do not have a name. I do not have a face, or a body. I am simply a patron of God, of Adonai, and that is enough. I am an Angel, as some might say. The work we do is not pretty. It is not pure. But it is needed, and I will forever stand by it.